Presentable Liberty: A Promised Meeting
by Princess of Veriana
Summary: An alternate ending from Charlotte's point of view for the game Presentable Liberty. Will she see her only friend? Rated T for depressive and suicidal thoughts.


_Disclaimer: I watched Markiplier's video of Presentable Liberty yesterday. I rarely write fanfiction, and when I do I never publish them. I am not English native and I honestly don't think I have any talent for writing. But this story hit home and I hate the ending with a passion. I can see the beauty in sad or bittersweet endings, sometimes I can even appreciate them for what they are, but I couldn't bear this one. So I re-wrote the ending in this fanfiction. But more than that, I had to share it._

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><p>She had seen the world dying. She had seen the streets growing quiet, the lights going out. Where there had once been laughs and idle talks, there was now nothing but silence. Even arguments, disputes and people fighting each others were gone. Life was gone and she hadn't been able to do anything but watch as everything had vanished. All she had been able to do was hide in her pastry shop and pray that this was all nothing but a nightmare, a terrifying nightmare which would end soon. But time passed and nothing changed. Minutes, hours and days passed. But the nightmare didn't go away. She was alone and all she felt was what life had left behind before leaving; despair and sadness, a feeling of abandonment and loneliness. She didn't want to feel like this. She didn't want to feel any more.<p>

She didn't even want to live any more.

But she had him. He was all she had left, he was her only friend. She didn't know why she had sent a letter to a complete stranger. He was a prisoner, maybe even a criminal. She didn't know anything about him. She wasn't even sure whether he was alive or not; he never replied. It had to mean he was dead. Yet… She wanted to believe all it meant was that he couldn't reply. She wanted to believe he was alive. She wanted to believe that there was another one like her somewhere in this empty world. One who shared her thoughts and feelings. He couldn't talk to her, but he could listen. There was still life. Somewhere in this empty world, there were still feelings belonging to the realm of the living.

And if he really was like her, she knew her letters brought him something. Not happiness, maybe not even hope. But he would know he wasn't alone. He would know that even if walls separated them, their thoughts were together. There was someone like him; somewhere beyond his cage there was another human being who was alone. Their cages may have been different, but they were both prisoner of a reality they could no longer bear. They weren't alone. There was someone out there who would do anything to spend time with another human being. And maybe, just maybe they would be able to find each other.

A thought. Perhaps it wasn't much, but this thought had allowed her to survive. The letters she had sent him had allowed her to cling onto hope. She felt something at the thought she may have been able to help another like her. And it wasn't despair or sadness. She didn't know what she felt, but she was content to simply be able to feel a positive emotion. She was content to have found a reason to stay alive. Maybe happiness was what she felt. Not the artificial happiness they once sold out there, the real happiness only another living being could bring. The letters weren't much, but she had found herself smiling when writing them, when thinking to what his reaction may be upon receiving her letters. Someone cared. And for a moment, she had thought she would never need anything else.

But she had been wrong. This wasn't enough. Not anymore. With each passing seconds, she felt doubt creeping up, her certainty that he was alive vanishing and her solitude growing. To believe he was listening wasn't enough anymore. She wanted to know it. She wanted to communicate with him, to do more than share words on a piece of paper. But he couldn't do anything. She knew it wasn't his fault, but this wasn't enough anymore. She had tried communicating with things that were not words. A gift she had shaped with her own hands. Even music. But she didn't want to be alone any more. She had been alone for so long, she had hoped for so long. She didn't want to die, but she no longer wanted to live either. Not like that. Life wasn't always happy and most of the time, living was hard and painful. Yet for as long as she could remember, she had always cherished life. She just had never realized until now that what she had cherished were the brief moments spent with others. The laughs they shared, the smile they put on each other face, and even the pain they shared.

The humanity they shared.

She couldn't wait. She wanted to believe he would come, but she couldn't even bring herself to smile any more. When she thought about him, all that came were tears. Maybe he was alive and she couldn't help him. Maybe he was dead and she had failed to help him. No matter what the truth was, it was unbearable to her. There was no one to tell her what she wanted to hear, to tell her to hope and live another day. To tell her to wait for him.

Maybe he didn't reply because he was dead. And if so, there was only one way to join him. But if she was wrong, she wouldn't abandon him. She would leave something behind, so he would know she had been real. So he would know her feelings had been genuine. For an instant she thought she heard footsteps somewhere in the distance, but of course this could only be an illusion. She had been alone for so long. Her mind was playing tricks on her and before long she would be completely mad. That was how the human mind worked. She didn't want to end like that. She wanted to leave this world as herself.

She took a knife and stood before the door to the back room. If he were alive, if he managed to come… She didn't want him to see her, not like that. She wanted him to remember the woman who had sent him letters, who had sent him a cake, the woman who had sent him what little hope and affection was left in this dead world. She didn't want him to remember the woman who had given in to despair and chosen death.

She heard the door of the shop opening. But she didn't turn around; she didn't want to. It had to be her mind playing more tricks on her. She didn't want her last moments in this world to bring even more sorrow. She didn't want to feel anything anymore. She looked at her knife, freezing and tearing up upon seeing what seemed to be the reflection of human being in it. Was it an illusion or had the nightmare finally ended? She didn't know but she sobbed and cried. She hadn't wanted to feel anything, but emotions wouldn't leave her alone. And as she cried, she realized it wasn't despair she felt. Not happiness. Not even hope, but something else. A feeling of belonging.

She closed her eyes and turned around. Her only friend. She didn't even look at him, she didn't have to. It wasn't important. All that mattered was feeling the warmth of another human being. To know she wasn't alone. To know she could rest in his arm and he in hers. To know they would laugh and share what little humanity was left in this world. Even words weren't important now. Ans the only ones that escaped their lips couldn't begin to convey the extent of what they were feeling.

"Thank you."


End file.
